


Indelible

by profound-boning (farawaystardust)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amputee Castiel (Supernatural), Canonical Character Death, Dean in Glasses, Disabled Character, Discussion of a traumatic accident, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Panic/Anxiety, POV Castiel, Past Car Accident, Psychic Pamela kind of, Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/pseuds/profound-boning
Summary: Castiel knows from the moment he wakes up that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.





	Indelible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryptomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/gifts).



> Super excited to share this one with you fam! This prompt came from crypto in the profound bond network and I'm placing the text in the end notes because it's a little bit of a spoiler.
> 
> Huge thanks owed to [firefly124](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124) for being an amazing beta and friend! 
> 
> rated T for cursing and talking about Cas's accident after he wakes up :(

Castiel knows from the moment he wakes up that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Blinking against the bright, fluorescent lights above, Cas takes two deep breaths. His chest feels abnormally sore working around the expansion and compression of his lungs; what on Earth has happened to land him in the hospital with at the very least some internal injuries?

Slowly, he begins to check in with the rest of his body. His arms feel too heavy for the moment, which he dismisses as being really, really tired. His nose works, both it and his ears can still be wiggled. He swipes his tongue across his lips, biting down on a piece of dried skin. Everything up here checks out.

With painstaking effort, Cas twists his neck slightly to the left and then the right. That seems to work all right, no neck brace or anything. His vision is a bit hazy but he appears to be wearing a hospital gown and has some blankets piled on top of him, tucked up to his chest. It’s cozy, but he can’t shake the feeling that there is indeed something wrong with this picture.

However, with his next breath, Cas falls asleep again.

 

“Misters Novak, I know this is difficult…”

“Difficult? That is a huge understatement.” Gabriel’s voice sounds angry, even irate. Cas hasn’t heard him sound this upset in years—since they were teenagers, maybe, back when their dad walked out.

He turns his head where it rests on a pillow in the direction of his brother’s voice.

“Gabe?” His voice sounds harsh.

“Cassie?” Gabriel gasps and he must have grabbed Cas’s hand because now Cas can squeeze his fingers around Gabriel’s eternally warm hands.

“S’warm,” he mutters, “m’cold, Gabe.”

“Get—Bal, get my brother a damn blanket. Cassie? You still awake?”

Oh, right, he should open his eyes. With some effort, Cas pries his eyelids open to peer at his brother. His long hair appears greasy and his normally mischievous eyes look tired.

“You’re tired,” he points out to Gabriel. “Should be sleepin’.”

“We’ve been telling him to do just that but, well, stubbornness runs in the family,” Balthazar chimes in from just over Gabriel’s shoulder. Cas notices the new blanket has been tucked in around him. The nurse or whoever had been speaking must be just on the other side of the bed but Cas is too tired to turn and look at them. He thinks about the fingers of his left hand and urges them to move, and he is then able to feel the heavy wool where it rests over him.

“Thanks for the blanket,” he slurs. “Why’m I sleepy, Gabe?”

“It’s the meds, kiddo. They got you on the good stuff while you…so…” Gabriel appears to be unable to finish the sentence, tiredness in his eyes replaced by tears.

Cas’s heart beats a little harder. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Cas.” Balthazar reaches over to place one hand on Cas’s shoulder, the other wrapped around Gabriel. Balthazar’s soulmark is clearly visible on the back of his hand, the same maroon-colored pyramid that Gabe has on his clavicle. “You’re in the hospital, darling. We’re here with you now though, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Is this…the car?” The last thing he can sort of remember before waking up here was driving home from church. Just a regular Sunday afternoon.

Gabe makes this _noise_ and he nods, squeezing Cas’s hand in both of his. “You’re fine, Cassie, we’re here now.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas breathes; his thoughts and speech are starting to become more clear. “You came all this way for…a car accident?” It’s nearly a five-hour drive between their respective cities and they do meet up often but surely something _bad_ must have happened for both of them to drive out when they should be relaxing before going back to work tomorrow.

“Mister Novak,” says the person on his other side. Cas takes a deep breath before turning his head around to face whoever’s there; a thin man wearing a gentle smile greets him. “Hi there. Happy to finally meet you. My name is Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth and I’m the charge nurse. Please call me Garth. I want to talk to you a little bit about what brought you here and why you are still here in addition to your future discharge and recovery. I can also go and get your surgeon, Doctor Bradbury, and bring her in here as well. With your family here, I want to respect everyone’s time and space. I’m afraid there’s been quite a lot that’s happened since your accident, Mister Novak.”

Cas blinks, gripping Gabriel’s hand to keep him grounded. “Okay. Yes. Car accident. Surgeon.”

“Yes,” Garth says, “give me just a moment to page her.” He walks to the telephone attached to the wall at the corner of the room.

“We met her, too,” Balthazar says, giving Gabriel’s shoulder a squeeze. “She seems very nice.”

“That’s…good,” Cas acknowledges, turning back to Garth. He smiles at them kindly.

“So, Mister Novak, Castiel, I’m not sure what all you might remember, but I want to be upfront about what’s happened. Just stop me if it gets to be too much.” Garth glances up at Gabriel before meeting Cas’s eyes again. “On Sunday afternoon, a vehicle collided with yours on the left side impacting your door and pushing your car several feet in the opposite direction. I’m told it’s lucky you didn’t flip over or hit anything on that side as well. But the damage was extensive. In fact, the frame was so damaged that EMS had to cut you out of the vehicle.” Now it’s Gabriel’s turn to hold his hand tightly, and Cas can hear his labored breathing. He’s still just trying to process the nurse’s words as he hears them. “When you were being removed, a piece of shrapnel that had been embedded in your thigh was jostled to such a degree that it nicked your femoral artery. At that point, the ambulance team needed to transition from stabilizing you to saving your life. You had already lost so much blood by the time anyone could help you that this additional blood loss was extremely dangerous. Are you still with me? Do I need to stop?”

Cas takes a deep breath at looks at Gabriel, whose eyes are overflowing with tears. “You okay, Gabe?”

His brother chokes. “Shut the fuck up, Cassie. Asking me how I am when you’re the one—when you—” He can’t continue. Balthazar kisses the side of Gabe’s head and nods at Garth.

A redhead in a white lab coat enters the room, pushing her eyeglasses to the top of her head. “Well! It is certainly nice to see you awake, Mister Novak.”

“Castiel, please,” he says, “and you’re Doctor Bradbury?”

“Yes, Garth told you that I was your surgeon?” she confirms and then faces Garth. “Please continue the debrief as you were, then.”

“Castiel,” Garth says, and Cas turns his head back to face him. “Castiel, in accidents like yours, it is unfortunately common to suffer injuries below the knee due to the car frame being bent and crushing the bones of the shin. I’m afraid that that is precisely what happened to you at the scene of your accident. I can provide you with x-rays when you are ready to see them, but I can tell you that both bones in your lower left leg were shattered.”

Gabriel makes this high-pitched noise of pain but Cas just feels sort of numb. For the first time, he looks at the far end of the bed. The shapes there are not what he would have expected to see.

“My leg…”

No one says anything. Cas can’t look at any of them. He simply stares at the flat, empty space that would have— _should have been_ his left foot. Ankle. Shin. Bone. Muscle. Skin. Mark. _Mark._ It’s…gone?

His ears are ringing, and he distantly thinks this is probably not good but he feels like if he wasn’t already laying down he’d keel over. This is too much. How do you wake up to find out that you are now missing one of the limbs that you’ve always had?

And not just _any_ limb, but the limb where his soulmark has resided since the day he was born?

He looks up, then, looks at his big brother who is crying silent tears. Or maybe he is speaking but Cas can’t hear him over the panic. Gabriel, whose soulmark is covered by his shirt but is mirrored on Balthazar. He looks at Garth, whose mark he can see at the inner wrist, the shape indiscernible from this angle but obvious. Doctor Bradbury’s he cannot see at a glance but she has one, too, everyone does.

Except for him, now.

Tears well up quickly in his eyes. His hearing comes back slowly, Gabriel’s voice filtering in above the white-noise-panicky-scared-static in his head.

“Oh, Cas.” Gabriel presses his mouth against the back of Cas’s hand. “Cassie, it’s going to be okay. We’ll—we’ll figure this out together.”

“There are prosthetics, Castiel,” Doctor Bradbury says calmly. “You’ll be fitted for one, attend some physical therapy, and your quality of life will improve over time. You are still _alive_ and that’s what matters.”

Cas is shaking his head, tears hot on his cheeks. He’s not worried about the prosthetic or the recovery, he’s worried about his _soulmate._ But he’s too worked up to speak, so he just lets Gabriel cry and he lets himself panic and Balthazar, Garth, and Doctor Bradbury do their best to get everything under control.

:     :     :     :     :

Cas stands on the sidewalk, leaning slightly on his cane, and stares at the storefront some more.

He’d walked past this strip every day for months while he was in graduate school a couple of years back and it still looks as bright and welcoming as ever. The hair salon on the end has changed owners and the Thai place got some new signs out in front, but the café and used bookstore is the same, as is the tattoo and piercing shop “Winchester”, featuring stylized art of the namesake rifle.

The white cursive script stands out against the warm brick of the building just as Cas stands out among the other passersby now.

Not that any stranger would know where his soulmark used to be and that underneath his jeans is a prosthesis and no mark, but _he_ still knows that he’s different. Maybe all these other people can probably tell (the cane is a bit of a giveaway) and Gabriel is just trying to reassure him because he wants Cas to feel normal. Not that his life is like it used to be at all since the accident—he’s had to adapt to a new normal.

It had been a long six weeks in the hospital, especially since he wasn’t able to get up on his own. Gabriel took a lot of time off of work in order to stay with him and Balthazar came down as often as he could, too. The trips to the bathroom were the hardest because Cas felt so much shame about his lack of ability to care for himself. But Gabriel was endlessly patient, always checking in and giving him pep talks. Said he was earning gold stars for being a good older brother, that he didn’t feel any resentment.

Cas felt a lot of resentment, though. He resented the other driver for causing the crash, the EMTs for cutting that artery, the hospital staff for keeping him bedridden, and eventually his physical therapist for making him do stupid exercises.

But Doctor Shurley was firm and never let him get away with bullshitting excuses. Cas needed to exercise—still does—in order to properly heal. He’d been fitted in the hospital for the prosthesis and at two and a half months, took his first steps with the doctor and Gabriel by his side. After two more months, he could amble slowly around the clinic. Eventually, Gabriel went back home, but he still visits every two weeks like clockwork.

They’ve put his life back in order. Gabriel rearranged his first-floor apartment to be more friendly toward his cane, got him a bus pass so he doesn’t have to drive, and smoothed things over at work so he could come back with minimal problems. The nice thing about being an editor is that he can stay seated while working. His co-workers and managers have all been very supportive, from flowers in the hospital to converting anything on paper into PDFs or hosting meetings virtually when he opts to work from home, as he does most days out of the week. He’s hopeful that he can return to the office more fully as he continues to recover and improve.

So, yeah, everyone’s supportive and Doctor Shurley says he’ll be able to run again by next summer but Cas still doesn’t know what will happen with regard to his soulmate. It’s been just over nine months. He’s consulted medical doctors, psychics, the Internet, every resource he can get his hands on. There doesn’t seem to be a consensus on what happens when someone loses their soulmark; there’s no consistent evidence of mark regrowth for the partner who loses their mark, a changed mark for _their_ partner to compensate, or any hard scientific data whatsoever on any of this.

Which means Cas is taking matters into his own hands.

With a deep breath, Cas determinedly pushes open the door and walks straight up to the front desk. A man with a _mullet_ is sitting there and Cas immediately worries that maybe he should have picked a different tattoo shop.

“Hi there,” mullet-man greets him. “How can I help you today?”

“Um. I, uh, want a tattoo. Please.”

“You sure about that?” _Wink._ “We do like to book appointments in advance, depending on the size of the art you want. Let’s get you set up good and proper. Can you show me the design you have in mind?”

“Oh, uh…” Cas feels thrown off. Why didn’t he come prepared? “I’m sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize. It’s… Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Sure. Take your time.” The man hands over a pen, too.

“Thanks,” Cas replies. He’d be able to recreate the shape of his soulmark from memory, blindfolded, no matter the circumstance. “I can bring something better for the actual appointment, of course,” he says, “but it’s just like this, in three lines about this large.”

The man at the desk studies his drawing thoughtfully. Cas has always been enamored of his soulmark. A simple honeycomb design in neat rows wrapped around his calf and shin from the day he was born until, well…

“Looks great! If you could please finish your perfect design and email it to the shop before your appointment then we’ll be all set. Let’s pick a date.” Mullet shifting gently across his shoulders, the man sits in the rolling chair behind the desk and pushes himself to the other end where a nice-looking computer rests in the corner. “For this design, I’m thinking you’ll want Dean to be your artist. He’s a master with clean lines. Very geometrical. Got some time on Thursday if you’re free? How’s two in the afternoon?”

Cas nods. “Yeah, yes, that should be good.” He plucks a business card from the little tray next to the computer. “And this is the email address?”

“Yes sir! I’m Ash, by the way. Can I get your name for the appointment?”

“Oh, yes, Cas Novak.” He gives Ash all the information needed for the appointment while he saves the shop’s email in his cell phone so he won’t forget. He’s a little bummed they couldn’t see him today when he’d just gotten up the nerve to walk in, but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.

He heads home determined not to get down on himself or reconsider. This is what he’s been waiting for and gathering the courage to do ever since he’d woken up in the hospital.

:     :     :     :     :

When Thursday arrives, Cas is nervous as ever. He has to change his shirt before he leaves the house because of how much he’s sweating. The weather is nice enough that he doesn’t need a jacket, so he’s free to wear a short-sleeved shirt that won’t hinder the process of getting his wrist tattooed. He’s come to understand through his Internet research that he will be given some gauze and plastic wrap immediately after the tattoo is complete and that he will need to use lotions and ointment in the days that follow. Just like taking care of his amputated leg, he’ll need to be diligent in order to let his tattoo fully heal.

He manages the bus ride and short walk to the shop and then frets outside for another long minute before he pushes open the door.

Ash is seated behind the desk again, chatting with a dark-haired woman about her forthcoming full-sleeve tattoo. Cas waits awkwardly, not wanting to approach the desk and intrude on their conversation. He admires the wall art for a moment before a voice interrupts his thoughts.

“You nervous, bumblebee?” The woman approaches him, her eyes trailing up and down his body in a way that is not sexual but rather piercing as if she can peer inside his head. As if she can see his prosthesis and lack of soulmark. “You shouldn’t be.” She pats his cheek and he startles. “Dean is going to take good care of you.” Without another word or backward glance, she marches out the door.

Cas stares openly after her for a minute before turning to Ash, his face no doubt very open about his confusion.

“Don’t mind Pamela,” Ash says, waving one hand in the air. “She sees more than some of us do. Guess she felt like giving you a little wisdom.” He shrugs as if that explains everything, but Cas feels no more enlightened than he did before.

Then, a man comes around the corner and Cas’s mind screeches to a halt. This man has to be a professional model, maybe a movie star. His face ought to be captured on film, on canvas, in lyrics and poetry, and his body’s nothing to snuff at either. He’s tall, just a bit taller than Cas, and well-built with pale freckled skin and brilliant green eyes behind square-framed glasses. He flashes Cas a smile filled with perfect teeth and his good knee is in danger of buckling underneath him.

“You my next appointment?” Oh, God, even his _voice_ is handsome. Cas clears his throat hurriedly.

“I am if you’re Dean,” he says.

“That’s me.” Dean claps his hands together and Cas’s eye is drawn to the tattoos he can see snaking up Dean’s left forearm before disappearing under his shirt sleeve. “Let’s head on back.”

“Oh, Dean,” Ash says, “grab his design off the printer, I’ve just sent it.”

“Awesome.”

Cas trails after Dean, offering Ash a polite half-smile. He notices the way Ash’s eyes drop to his cane, likely taking in the way that Cas needs to lean on it all the time. The attention doesn’t really _hurt_ as much as just make Cas’s skin feel itchy.

As he’s following Dean through the shop, he pointedly avoids checking Dean out by observing everything on the walls. There’s clearly a family history here and a lot of love. He notices two private offices with desks covered in sketches and artwork, and they pass a couple of empty stations, mirrors, and three sinks. A huge man is working at a station by the window, giving a blonde woman’s newly pierced nose careful attention.

Dean gestures to one of the unoccupied chairs. “You can put your cane down wherever, if you don’t mind,” he says. He continues walking just a short distance to where a printer is sitting in the corner. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” Cas answers, settling into his seat. “But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

Dean grabs the paper without looking at it before he turns back to Cas. “That’s good,” he says, looking down then, “that’s—”

He freezes. Cas watches at him, a bit concerned. Dean stares hard at the paper in his hands. Isn’t that his design? Is there something wrong with it? Dean looks up from it only to blink at Cas, pink lips parted in surprise. He swallows.

“I, uh, gotta grab some transfer paper quick,” Dean says, then he spins and walks back to the front of the shop. Cas feels awkward, but he folds his hands in his lap and waits. He half-listens to the other employee giving his customer some papers before escorting her back to the front. He spares a glance over his shoulder and smiles at Cas, who nods, taking in the man’s nose ring and stretched ears. He’d thought about getting a piercing in college, something cool like an eyebrow ring, but he’d chickened out.

The longer he sits, the more curious he becomes about Dean’s reaction and the way he’d run off. Hopefully, there’s nothing _wrong_ but he’s not sure. Ash had recommended Dean specifically, so he’s not sure what’s happened.

Finally, Dean returns with the piercer trailing after him. Dean’s eyes are fixed on Cas’s in a way that has Cas pinned to his chair. That is until Dean notices he’s being followed, then he turns and smacks the other man on the arm.

“Go away, Sammy,” he mutters. The taller guy (seriously, he must be close to seven feet tall) shoots Cas a goofy sort of grin before backing out of the room. “Ignore him,” Dean says to Cas when he comes closer. “Just bein’ obnoxious. Ash told me that this is the size you want, but I wanna make sure. Put this on yourself where you want it so we can make sure it’s right.” He hands Cas his honeycomb design printed out on standard paper. Cas takes it and wraps it around his wrist.

“Here,” he says, “about an inch off my actual wrist. I can handle some pain but that seems intense.” Dean nods, staring hard at his arm. “So…yeah. The honeycomb looks good for size.” The pattern will extend a couple of inches up his arm. He briefly mourns, again, the fact that he’d lost his original mark to the accident. Perhaps something good will come of simply recreating it elsewhere on his body. Or maybe nothing at all. But he’s got to try.

Dean clears his throat then, blinking quickly. “All right,” he says, carefully taking back the design from Cas.

“Is everything okay?” he asks Dean, who looks at him carefully.

“Everything’s peachy,” Dean replies, but his words are weighted in some way that’s indiscernible to Cas at the moment. He’s not sure what else to do but nod and smile reassuringly, leaving his hand extended and palm up on the arm of the chair. He observes Dean handling his tools expertly and silently. There’s a sort of lingering tension he can’t quite place, so he intentionally holds onto his next inhale and releases it a bit forcefully. When Dean has his gloves on and has prepared Cas’s skin, he presses the paper against his wrist and leaves stark purple lines behind. Then, he sits.

“Gotta wait for it to dry,” he explains. Dean fidgets, glancing at Cas’s arm and back up at his face. “It’s still going to hurt. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says. He wishes he knew what Dean is so obviously concerned about, but he figures it’s not his place to ask. “How long have you been, uh, tattooing?”

Dean chuckles, a smile lighting up his face. “”Forever,” he says. “This was my dad’s place. He and my mom were artists and we’ve kept it going, me and my brother, Sam. He’s the moose you saw just a minute ago. That’s where the name comes from, it’s our surname, the rifle’s just art.” Cas nods, flexing his fingers. Dean looks down at them and says, “I think it’s ready.” He carefully opens a package to retrieve sterile needles and settles in to work. “Uh, it’s black ink, right? Just realized I never asked.”

“Oh.” Cas laughs. “Yes, black.”

“All right.” Dean grins at him, a little lopsided. “Here we go.” The buzzing starts up and the needle pierces Cas with a little more force than he was anticipating, but it’s not too bad. By the time Dean is completing the first hexagon, he hardly notices the individual pricks, but rather an overall buzzing, dull sensation in his forearm. “Keep your arm relaxed,” Dean murmurs and Cas opens his fist. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

“Surprisingly, that is difficult to remember,” Cas remarks.

“Happens to everyone. But I wouldn’t want you to pass out on me,” Dean teases, moving across his arm with ease.

They continue to talk. Dean wants to know how Cas had chosen their shop, wants to know about Cas’s family as well. Balthazar and Gabriel met when they were pre-teens, so he’s been like another (annoying, protective, ridiculous) older brother to Cas for years now. Dean tells him about his car and then, the accident that killed his parents.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Cas says softly, emotion rising in his chest. It’s not Dean’s fault that Cas still can’t really talk about cars or driving without becoming incredibly anxious.

Dean responds immediately, turning off the tattoo gun and touching Cas’s other arm soothingly. “M’sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to bring down the conversation.”

Cas shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He takes a couple of deep breaths, his eyes fixed on Dean’s. They’re a fascinating shade of green, some combination of colors that makes him look a bit otherworldly; he wonders if a photograph could do them justice, if anyone would be able to explain with words alone. They’re very expressive, Cas can only see genuine concern there and worry running along his brows.

“I’m fine,” he manages, voice quiet in the otherwise silent workroom.

Dean nods, rubbing Cas’s skin carefully before starting the needle again. They don’t speak, just watching the black ink take shape on the tender and tanned skin of Cas’s arm. It doesn’t take very long at all, and Ash was correct that Dean is very talented with straight lines and geometric patterns. He sports a couple of them on his own arm; Cas sees a couple of flowers as well as an ornate sword and a simple birdcage depicted there. He wishes he could sit down with Dean Winchester and learn about what each of them represents.

“Finished,” Dean says quietly, setting down the gun. He wipes Cas’s arm gently, looking at his arm with so much affection. Why would Dean be looking at his tattoo like that? “Cas, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why _this_ design?” Dean looks up at him, those green eyes wide and pleading. Dean _desperately_ wants to know why Cas has just gotten this particular tattoo, but Cas doesn’t really want to share.

“It’s…very personal.” Dean nods, clearly encouraging him to continue. “I love this design,” he says, “it’s beautiful.”

“I agree,” Dean breathes, a smile curling the edges of his mouth. Why is Dean smiling?

“It’s personal,” Cas repeats, pulling his arm closer to his body. Dean’s hand moves as if to follow without his permission and he brings it back quickly when he notices. His eyes move between Cas’s arm and his face imploringly. What is it that Dean is wanting to hear?

“Cas, I…I don’t know how else to ask you this.” Cas’s heart rate picks up at Dean’s words. “I just—I find this particular design is very important to me, uh, personally, and I am dying to know why this is what _you_ have chosen for yourself.” Dean folds his hands together and hunches his shoulders. “Please.”

Cas observes him, the way Dean is holding himself tightly in his chair. Why does it matter to Dean that Cas has a honeycomb shape around his wrist? Then again, would it really be that hard to share with Dean the reason why? Dean’s shared a bit of personal information with him, reciprocating seems appropriate. He’s drawn to Dean in a way that’s difficult to explain; Cas is often too shy for small talk, too busy or too involved in his work to worry about social interaction, so this doesn’t normally happen. Cas breathes in and out and looks down at his cane on the floor before he answers.

“I…didn’t _choose_ this design, not really. I—I was in an accident just a few months ago and I lost my leg.” He gestures to his left knee and Dean’s eyes dart there immediately. “That’s where it originally was. This…” He points at the tattoo. “This is what my soulmark looked like. It was right there my whole life and then one day I wake up and it’s gone.” He stares hard at his left shoe, where his prosthetic is currently out of their view, but _he_ knows that it’s there. “And I don’t know what’s happened to my soulmate since I lost it and I don’t know if getting this tattoo will even do anything at all but I just—I had to try it. I had to do _something.”_

He looks up and realizes that Dean is staring back at him, green eyes shining, lips trembling. He feels confused and tilts his head. What—?

“Cas,” Dean breathes his name. “Cas, I…” When he doesn’t continue, Cas waits patiently. Why is Dean reacting to him this way?

Seemingly lost for words, Dean leans over and starts pulling at his jeans, He tugs the bottom of it up past his ankle and then his calf and sticks his leg out next to Cas’s chair. His leg which features an identical honeycomb pattern around his shin.

Cas stares gaping at Dean’s leg for a long moment before he can drag his eyes away. Dean’s mark looks unchanged and normal; Dean’s face is a beacon of emotion, his smile huge and his eyes wet. Cas feels his own face mirroring the expression.

“It’s _you,”_ he says, finally. Dean laughs like sunshine over running water, quick and light. He looks so joyful and Cas feels it, too, feels like his heart could burst at any moment.

“We found each other,” he says, placing one hand carefully on Cas’s right knee. “Can’t believe you just walked right in here.”

“I can’t believe you tattooed our soulmark on me,” Cas realizes. Dean laughs again.

“It’ll be a story for the grandkids.” Dean blushes fiercely like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Cas puts his hand over Dean’s and squeezes.

“That sounds good to me,” Cas reassures him. Dean bites his lip and looks very shy for the first time. Cas thinks that he’d like to see that look again and again. As soon as he can stop smiling at Dean, he’ll need to ask for his phone number. And if he’s free tonight for dinner.

Castiel hadn’t known that walking into a tattoo shop would change his life, but from the moment he did, things started to go amazingly, wonderfully right.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Person A loses their leg in a car accident. Their mark was on their leg. Does it mean they won’t find their person?? Angst. They painstakingly draw it exactly as it was and go to get it tattooed on their wrist, hoping it will still count. Person B is a tattoo artist.
> 
> [on tumblr](http://profound-boning.tumblr.com/post/175581827519/)


End file.
